The fervor of summer and long heated days,
the drying, warm breezes in afternoon sun,
make grasses turn brown, seeping groundwater scarce,
and signal the turn of the season's begun. 

Grapes waiting 'til harvest, with patience, resigned,
the sun is no longer straight overhead, peaked,
just sixty days' biding will bring out the crew,
and crush soon thereafter, the vintage critiqued.

The energy drawn by the vineyard's broad leaves
gives the clusters their health, and their palate repute,
for these are the grapes of the arid and parched-
a cool, rainy summer would ruin the fruit.

Photo and Poem- Copyright © 2008 by Jack Huber-
All rights reserved.

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